


it wouldn't hurt

by a_sleepy_planet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash February, Harry Potter Fanfiction Club Server's Winter Challenge II, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, no beta we die like my 2020 travel plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sleepy_planet/pseuds/a_sleepy_planet
Summary: Pomona Sprout was beginning to regret inviting the new Divination teacher to tea.
Relationships: Pomona Sprout/Sybill Trelawney
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	it wouldn't hurt

Pomona was beginning to regret inviting the new Divination teacher for tea. The unexpected addition to the Hogwarts staff initially interested her. But as the afternoon wore on, it was becoming plain that Sybill Trelawney was... well. A few uncharitable descriptions leapt to mind. One such word was "bragging."

“I come from a long line of Seers, you know. My great-great-grandmother was Cassandra-”

“Cassandra Trelawney, yes,” interrupted Pomona, “you mentioned that. Twice.” She smiled winningly and took a fortifying sip of herbal tea as Trelawney eyed her. For the sake of getting to know her new colleague, she put on her most gracious 'Head of Hufflepuff' voice.

“I hear you’ve already moved into the castle, Professor. Albus must be very sure about you.”

“Call me Sybill, dear,” said Trelawney, “but yes, the headmaster hired me on the spot. I found it flattering, but unsurprising.”

“The news surprised me," Pomona admitted, "I heard he planned to drop the subject altogether."

“The tides of fate are changeable and obtuse to most. Of course, I foresaw I would become the Divination some months ago. I was only waiting for the vacancy to be announced.”

“Of course,” Pomona echoed. “You know, I've always wondered how one interviews for a Divination job. Do you prophesize on command?”

“I demonstrated several types of divination for the headmaster,” Trelawney sniffed. “Tarot and crystallomancy of course, along with teomancy, ceromancy, astragalomancy, padomancy…”

“Padomancy?"

“The lesser-known sister to palmistry. Albus was quite impressed when I divined the name of his future wife by examining the creases of his big toe.”

Pomona almost choked with laughter.

“That must have been a surprise." Considering Albus was as interested in women as You-Know-Who was in becoming a ballroom dance instructor. "How will he know if the prediction holds true? Is there an expiry date on prophecies?"

Trelawney seemed unaware of Pomona’s amusement. She smiled benevolently and adjusted her spangled shawl.

“Albus Dumbledore lacks the Sight, but he is open to receiving wisdom from the Beyond. I had feared he would be one of those bitter skeptics. I find such cynics usually have a thin aura and little receptivity to the energies of the universe. It's no wonder they fester in bitterness.”

“Is that so?”

Pomona tried to take another sip of tea but found she had run out. She glared into the traitorous cup. Trelawney noticed her predicament.

“Would you like me to read your tea leaves, dear?” Pomona handed over her cup without protest. Trelawney hemmed and hawed before saying gravely, “In your cup lurks a portent of death- the scythe. I’m afraid you’re not long for this world. As soon as next month, the Reaper may appear to claim your immortal soul.”

“Isn’t a scythe an omen of a good harvest?”

“It may be interpreted that way,” Trelawney admitted. “But it would be willfully ignorant to favor that reading. Why would the universe seek to warn us of only good things? I understand the impulse, of course. It is difficult for witches and wizards to come face to face with their destiny and find it wanting.”

 _How well do you know that feeling, Sybill?_ Pomona thought.

“That’s an unbelievable gift you have,” she said mildly. Literally, it was unbelievable.

Trelawney gave a grim smile.

“Shall I read your palm, Professor Sprout?”

“Please, call me Pomona.” She let her hand rest in Trelawney’s grasp. Trelawney traced the creases of Pomona’s palm with elegant fingers.

“I can see you by your willful Heart Line that you will never marry. There’s no sign of a man ever laying claim to your heart.”

“I could have told you that,” Pomona snorted.

“Indeed? Do you have some facility with palmistry?”

“I'm no Seer,” Pomona grinned, “but I’ve never exactly been one for the fellas.”

* * *

Pomona caught her breath after climbing to the top of the north tower. Why couldn't Trelawney choose a classroom on the ground floor? As her breathing calmed, she could hear thumps and occasional muffled cursing coming from the trapdoor above her. Pomona climbed the ladder and poked her head through the floor, looking about the dusty room. It looked like a pawnshop that had lost a fight with her grandmother's attic. She spotted Trelawney levitating a cracked bust of Andros the Invincible while trying to stomp a large spider.

“Hello Sybill, doing alright?”

“Oh hello, Pomona dear. I'm doing a bit of- _gotcha_ \- spring cleaning.”

Trelawney dropped the bust into a pile of other broken objects and scraped her shoe as Pomona climbed up. She had dispensed with the sequined shawl today and had a streak of dirt on her high cheekbone. Pomona decided she rather liked the effect.

“Might be a bit late for spring cleaning Sybill, it’s already June.”

“Better late than never. What can I do for you?"

“A few of us real adults are heading down to Hogsmeade for a celebratory post-exams pint after dinner. Do you want to come along?”

"Oh, I don't know," Trelawney sighed, "I'd like to at least find my office by the end of the day, and it's not going well. There's a door somewhere around here, but there's all this _junk_ -"

Trelawney kicked a heavy wooden wardrobe as proof. A high pitched screech sounded from inside and the doors burst open with a crash. Out stepped a strange man, pale as a fish belly with glowing red eyes. Trelawney gave a shout and stumbled backward, but Pomona froze in place, fixated. The wizard, the monster, must have been seven feet tall and was grinning a shark’s grin, mouth too full of jagged and sharp teeth. Pomona closed her eyes as it raised its wand, mouthing “ _Avada_ -”

“BACK OFF!” screamed Trelawney, shattering a teapot over Lord Voldemort’s bald head.

The monster’s face swiveled like an owl towards Trelawney, who blanched but stood firm and lifted her shaking wand-arm.

“ _You_ ,” whispered the beast in a new voice, pale skin crumbling and flaking away like plaster as it twisted and changed shape. “How _dare_ you stand there and speak to me!”

Pomona’s knees turned to water and she sat down hard as the realization washed over her: _it’s a boggart_. The terror of the wizarding world hadn’t been lurking in an abandoned classroom, only a beast that could take its shape. Or something like it, anyway. Shark teeth, really?

Now it was taking the form of an old woman with silver hair and colorless eyes. Her posture was stooped, but charisma and power wrapped around her like a cloak. The old woman pointed at Trelawney with a single gnarled finger.

“Miserable brat! Doom-slinger, lie-peddler, you’re a _fraud_ , you’re _nothing_ -”

The muttering was relentless and damning. Pomona wished she couldn’t hear it. Each word landed on Trelawney like a physical blow as she shivered and trembled in place. Her wand arm lowered. She bowed her head.

“Sybill, it isn’t real!” Pomona cried out suddenly. Her voice was too loud for the enclosed space, breaking the trance. “It’s lying, fight back!”

Trelawney’s posture straightened and her gaze re-focused.

“Riddikulus!” A stack of playing cards whipped towards the boggart. Its skin sliced open like paper on the razored edges and sent a torrent of sand spilling over the floor. The old woman’s face deformed and deflated, but that didn’t stop the screaming.

“Imposter! Charlatan! Fraudster! Swindler! You’re a _sham_!”

“And you’re dust, old woman. You’re dead.”

With the flick of a wand, a heavy wind carried the sand into the wardrobe, heavy doors slamming shut. The entire room seemed to exhale. Benign motes of dust swirled in the sunlight and the ringing silence relaxed. Pomona struggled to her feet, knees still a bit wobbly. She dusted off her robes and caught Trelawney’s gaze. She tried to smile.

“Thanks for the save. I was bloody useless.”

“Don’t mention it,” Trelawney adjusted her glasses, “That was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I assume.”

“Yes. I saw him once. I was visiting a friend and saw the Dark Mark hanging over… and I saw something leaving the house. Like a pale shadow. A monster with red eyes.”

Pomona remembered the way her bones had ached and her lungs turned to ice under the green light of the Dark Mark. She hadn’t even been afraid at the moment. Only certain she was staring into a hungry void that no light or hope could escape from.

She felt a warm hand grip her shoulder, hard. Trelawney. The strength there was no longer surprising. The would-be psychic was tougher than she appeared. Pomona’s smile was much easier this time.

“Are you alright, Sybill?”

“I’m perfectly alright dear,” Trelawney murmured, “The dead often speak to me from beyond the Veil.”

She adjusted her round glasses again. Her colorless eyes were almost the same shade as the boggart’s, but with far more warmth behind them.

“Thank you for your invitation," Trelawney said, "but as you can see I have a lot of work to do. Not even the most piddling poltergeist would participate in a seance held here.”

Pomona didn’t point out Trelawney had the entire summer to clean the space. She also didn’t want to leave the new teacher alone in a dusty attic with the manifestation of her deepest fear.

“Well, it’s nothing a bit of elbow grease can’t fix. Mind if I help out?”

“Do I… mind?” Trelawney asked faintly.

Pomona grinned and rolled up her sleeves.

“I have a fondness for fixer-uppers.”

“The universe is telling me it would be unwise to dissuade you.”

“Smart universe.”

* * *

The two witches worked around the room, vanishing broken furniture and cobwebs. They found nothing else like the boggart (which would be gifted to the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor) but did unearth the promised office space. Inside were a few rotting spangled tapestries, some colorful poufs for seating, and a truly impressive scrying mirror that took up an entire wall. Sybill assured Sprout it was a great find and they rang the house-elves for a well-earned tea break.

“You know, this is a pretty nice space under all the cobwebs and doxy eggs,” said Sprout, “the kids will love it.”

“Indeed, the harmonic vibrations of this space are far more in tune with the Beyond.”

Sybill watched Sprout’s face as she took an appreciative sip of tea. There was a grey streak of dust on her warm brown jaw.

“You have a bit of…” Sybill reached for Sprout’s face. She looked bemused but leaned into Sybill’s touch like a flower facing the sun. “Er, dust. Right there.”

“Oh!” Sprout smiled brightly. “I’m not afraid of a bit of dirt. It’s good for the soul.”

“So said the Herbology teacher,” said Sybill, withdrawing her hand and forcing down a blush. Sprout laughed then quieted.

“So, Hogsmeade? You don’t have to go, but I could show you around the village. Properly introduce you to the other professors. Filius is anxious to meet you. And… I’d like a chance to know you better.”

Sprout put a warm hand over Sybill’s cool one and squeezed. It was a good hand, square and calloused from hard work, but gentle enough to nurture seedlings as they pushed from the soil and braved the open air. Perhaps they could nurture an isolated woman as well. Sybill stared into the dregs of her teacup. A shape clung to the side of the porcelain- a violin for loneliness. Her mother would have said it was a guitar for new love.

“Sybill? What do you think?”

Sprout’s hand was still covering hers. Sybill flipped her palm and tangled their fingers together.

“Yes. I’d love to come along.”

Sybill smiled hesitantly. Sprout’s answering grin was like the sun coming up. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn’t hurt to be optimistic.

**Author's Note:**

> The old woman raised a trembling finger and cried in a terrible roar,  
> "You're no good duck! You'll never be shit! You're just. Like. Ya father."
> 
> This work was created alongside other members of the Harry Potter Fanfic Club discord server. Since you've read this, why not join? https://discord.gg/tMT8meqMAR


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